Beginnings
by Kitty Kat K.O
Summary: It was their little secret. It always would be. No-one would ever find out... or would they? For The Southern Newborn!


**A/N: **So, this is pretty new for me - both the length and the couple. This is the longest thing I've ever written (an achievement? I'm still trying to decide. It was more of a pain to me...) And the fact this is yuri (**yes, this is yuri - if you don't like it, please just don't read, rather than flame**) is because it's a giftfic. In '_Skittles'_ I offered the 100th reviewer a oneshot of their choice: so this is for The Southern Newborn. I really hope you like it.

Some side notes beforehand:

1. _-koi _is the Japanese honorific meaning 'love'. It's a term of endearment, so when Zakuro calls Minto "Minto-koi", it's like she's saying "Minto-dear/darling/love/etc.". Or, well, so I've heard.

2. The ballet moves mentioned were told to me by a friend who knows ballet - I, myself, have absolutely no clue about it. So thank Immortal x Snow for the names of them.

3. The three OCs I've used and named in this are all just minor characters - like extras. They hold no real significance to the plot, and are only there for the purpose of moving the story along.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own TMM, or Katy's Perry's song, and I'm not sure if TV Tokyo Studios is a real place or not... but if it is, I don't own that either. I do, however, own Azuki Kasumi (who I'm actually growing attached to - maybe she'll make an appearance in something else).

Now, go read! And don't forget to review!

* * *

Water fell from above her, splashing her skin and proceeding to slither down her body until she was drenched; every inch of her covered in liquid. Her hair, tossed over her shoulders, clung to her back as trails of brown cascaded from the ends. Grabbing a tall, pink bottle from the nearby shelf and popping the lid open, she squirted some of its gooey contents onto the palm of her hand, before lathering it into her long, brunette locks. Once she had made sure every last strand was coated, she dunked her head back under the water and rinsed away the shampoo. After repeating the process not once more, but three times, she picked up another bottle labeled 'conditioner' and ran that substance through her hair. When finally she deemed her locks 'clean' she turned around, taking hold of the shower handle and twisting it until the jets of water came to an abrupt stop.

Picking up a small, white towel, she wrapped it round her hair, before picking up a larger, lavender coloured one and securing it around her body. Stepping out of the shower, she made her way to her bedroom, closing the door behind her firmly.

After quickly drying her body and snatching some clothes from her over-sized wardrobe, she began dressing - pulling on a pair of black drainpipe jeans, and a loose, pastel blue blouse, along with a cute, little pair of ankle socks decorated in sheep - before proceeding to wander over to her floor-length mirror.

Sucking in her breath, she gazed at her reflection, watching as she raised her arms and took hold of the towel atop her head. Suddenly, she yanked it off, allowing her hair to come tumbling down around her shoulders. A disappointed sigh escaped her lips; they'd said the dye was only temporary. Promised her, even. But as she gazed at her now rich chocolate hair, she figured they were only saying that. Well, someone would definitely be paying for that.

An aggravated scowl appeared on her normally expressionless lips. Oh yes; if her beautiful, violet hair was gone forever, someone would most certainly _pay_. She spun on her heel, about to seek out her phone and surprise her agent with a very stressful call, when she found herself spinning back around and striding towards the mirror, stopping so close to it that her breath fogged up the surface. Slowly, gingerly, she plucked several strands of hair from behind her ear in her fingers and brought them into her line of view. _There_. She gasped, mouth forming around a pleasant sounding "oh" before straightening into a small smile. A sliver of purple. A sliver of hope. She almost rolled her eyes as the thought occurred to her, but refrained herself from doing so - instead choosing to simply gaze in awe at her rare, natural colour showing through the tacky, brown dye.

However, her awestruck moment was interrupted by the ringing of her mobile, the peppy tones of Katy Perry's 'Fingerprints' sounding from somewhere else in the apartment. She waited, willing the caller to just put down the phone on their end and leave her alone. But as the song reached the end of the first chorus, she realised the ringing was not going to stop until she had answered. Wordlessly, she found her brush and exited her bedroom, pulling the comb through her still soaking hair as she hurried along the corridor and entered the living room. One glance around the space before her was all it took her to locate the ringing device, and she strode over to it, grabbing it and clicking the 'accept call' button.

She waited a second - mentally slapping herself for not checking the caller id - and remained silent until she heard excited chatter in the background; the distinct sound of a certain lorikeet-infused girl barking at the screeching and giggling voices to shut up met her awaiting ears. Stopping a chuckle falling from her own lips, she figured she might as well talk now - no doubt the girl on the other end didn't even know she had answered yet.

"Hello?"

"Eep! Onee-sama!" came the startled reply. She heard the voices in the background erupt into a fit of laughter, followed by a direct "One second, please" into the phone and then a muffled "Shut _up!_". She shook her head at their childishness, and waited until her friend turned her attention back to the phone. She didn't have to wait long; the younger girl was back within moments.

"Sorry about that, onee-sama. Some children just won't grow up," came the voice from the other end, her tone bitter. A cry of protest sounded in the background, but this time the caller chose to ignore it.

"Any particular reason for your call, Minto-chan?" she asked, toying with the ends of her currently brown hair.

"Oh, I was just wondering how your trip was, Zakuro-onee-sama. You got back last night, if I'm not mistaken?" Minto said, her final sentence not being entirely a question, but the tone of her voice leaving it open for reply.

"Yes, but I'm sure I didn't tell you when I was due home," she replied, raising her eyebrow skeptically.

"You didn't… I just thought I'd look into it… So I could let Shirogane-san know how long you needed off work, of course!" Her reply was too quick, and Zakuro found herself fighting a smirk.

"Excuses, excuses, Minto-koi," she stated.

"_Onee-sama!_" Minto all but hissed into the phone, her voice as low as a whisper, and yet, Zakuro could still hear the shock and embarrassment as loud as though she had yelled it to all the world. Although she couldn't see it, the model was sure the younger's cheeks were flushing.

Of course, Zakuro had a feeling she knew what her outburst was about, but she decided to make sure. Besides, it was fun to work the girl up sometimes. "Something wrong?" she asked, feigning indifference.

"You can't call me that!" Minto whispered immediately. "Not when everyone is around!"

"Yes I can; so long as you don't put me on speaker, I'm free to call you whatever I please. They can't hear me. You, on the other hand, might want to choose your words wisely. I think that Akasaka-san is beginning to catch on," Zakuro explained, making her way over to the large, black leather sofa and sitting herself down on it, before grabbing a chunky, but small, indigo book from her side table.

"That's not fair!" she all but whined. "You can't do that!"

"Yes I can," Zakuro stated simply, sifting through the pages of the book until she reached the one she was looking for, and then running her finger down the paper before stopping it under a certain date.

"But, onee-sama! That's teasing," the bluenette pointed out, and Zakuro could imagine that her speech was followed by a pout.

"And you're acting like a child, Minto," the elder snapped. But not a moment later, she sighed. "Look, get back to work before Shirogane-san sees you, or Ichigo-san starts complaining. I'll see you later on, so long as you're back to acting normal."

"Normal?"

"You were whining. And you know I can't deal with whining. Besides, it's not like you."

"Oh…" A pause. One that made Zakuro wonder whether or not she would carry on. "Yes, onee-sama. I will. Do you want me to get your uniform cleaned and pressed before you return?" Minto asked after a while, straying from the actual topic.

It took Zakuro only seconds to realise why. "They're hovering, aren't they? They should know better and to mind their own business."

"Will you be back tomorrow?" Minto continued, keeping up her charade of light, unsuspicious conversation. "Shirogane-san says he would like you back by mid-week; things are starting to liven up here, and Ichigo-chan isn't doing a very good job at handling it."

"Shirogane-san? Tell him I'll be back Wednesday. I have an interview tomorrow," Zakuro replied, glancing down at the time in her appointment book. "1pm, so I won't be coming in beforehand, and the interview lasts at least an hour, so I won't be in the best of moods for coming in during the afternoon, either."

Muffled muttering could be heard, and although Zakuro couldn't quite make out what was being said, she had a good idea that Minto was relaying the information she had just given to their blonde boss.

"Right, Shirogane-san says that's ok, and that Ichigo-chan will just have to manage for the time being," Minto said when she returned her attention to Zakuro.

She nodded, despite the fact she knew the other girl could not see the action, and rolled her eyes when she heard shrieking and shouting from the red-headed catgirl.

"You should really try helping out, you know," Zakuro commented. Upon hearing an intake of breath, meaning that Minto was going to argue, she continued, "And before you start, tea-testing is _not_ working."

Grumbling, Minto retorted, "Someone's got to do it - what if the tea isn't up to standard? Anyway, I'll see you later, onee-sama. Same time as usual?"

"Yes. Same time. Now go - get back to work, and don't leave everything to Ichigo-san again. Goodbye, Minto-koi," she said, not waiting for a reply before pressing the 'end call' button, and effectively hanging up the phone.

Instantly, Zakuro was overcome with a wave of fatigue. Jet lag, she determined, rising from her chair and slowly walking towards her large stack of books resting on the coffee table. The books were thick - several hundred pages in length, and many were the more expensive hardcover versions. A small smile tugged at her lips as she selected the largest book from the pile. Her modeling schedule had kept her busy from morning until night, and often she had found herself too tired to even bother trying to read anyway. It would be nice to be able to indulge herself in one of her favourite activities for a while. Besides, she needed something to fill the time until later that evening...

* * *

Huffing, Minto dragged herself up the last few steps needed to reach the floor. As a dancer, she was made to keep fit and healthy, with good food and plenty regular exercise, so needless to say her stamina was one of the things she prided herself on. She could go for hours performing pirouettes and tour jetes, pique turns and foutettes, and even other things such as running, if she ever felt as though it was necessary. So naturally, when she entered the apartment building and discovered the elevator was out of order, she thought that taking the stairs would be easy for her. And normally, it would have been.

Leaning on the banister railing for support, Minto continued panting, vaguely attempting to steady her breathing, her aching legs quickly turning to jelly and causing her to sink to the carpet. Why on earth did Zakuro have to live on the _top floor_ of the highest apartment complex in Tokyo?

A sigh escaped her lips as she sat there, not bothering to move even just the few final steps to the front door of the model's home. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander as she waited to gather enough energy to get up. Some time passed, and although she didn't know exactly how long, it was enough for the door to click open and Zakuro to step out into the hall. Opening her eyes, Minto quickly surveyed the elder, noting the frustrated scowl adorning her lips and her rigid - clearly annoyed - posture. But what caught her attention the most were the long, _brown_ locks tumbling down Zakuro's back.

_Why?_ Minto wondered. _Why on Earth had she decided to dye her hair brown? Hadn't she liked it the way it was?_

"Planning on getting up anytime soon?" came the aggravated voice from above. Titling her head upwards, Minto came face-to-face with the other girl, who had moved forward to stand beside her.

"Hmm… oh! Yes, yes of course!" she squeaked, flushing red as she scrambled to her feet. Zakuro rolled her eyes as Minto then proceeded to dust herself down, patting at both her clothing and her hair before taking out a comb and brushing her bangs. Then she pulled out a mirror, unclipping the catch and bringing it up to her eye level. Groaning, Zakuro snatched it from her and grabbed her wrist, dragging her into her apartment.

"You don't need that; you look fine," she grumbled, letting go of her hold on the petite girl and turning to shut the door.

"But onee--" A look. _The_ look. With a surprised "Eep!" Minto shut her mouth, a furious blush sprinkling her cheeks once again. However, her silence didn't last long, as she found one question in particular burning her lips; dancing on the tip of her tongue until she just had to ask it.

"Onee-sama, why is your hair that colour?"

Her query was met with silence; not a comfortable 'I'm-thinking-of-the-best-way-to-phrase-the-answer' silence, but an awkward silence - one that made Minto shuffle her feet and toy with the sleeves of her jacket, thinking that maybe she should have just stayed quiet.

Zakuro had frozen on the spot and slowly began to turn her head to face Minto, managing to scare the poor girl who was beginning to imagine that there was a scolding coming her way. So, needless to say, she was pretty shocked when the expression that met her was one of uncertainty.

"It was for the shoot - my natural colour clashed with the clothes they needed me to wear, so they convinced me to dye it. It's only supposed to be a wash-out dye… but… I don't know. It won't seem to come out," she explained, a frown marring her features.

Minto blinked. That made sense, at least. Although she presumed that, with the way Zakuro was looking at her, it hadn't been easy for the company to convince her to part with her normal, vibrant colour. She looked a little disheartened, her posture doing a good job in displaying this fact; shoulders slumped, body slouching, chin lowered. And Zakuro didn't like to show her emotions - meaning that if this much, albeit only a small amount anyway, was slipping through her barriers to the outside, she probably felt a whole lot worse on the inside.

A gasp escaped her lips as an idea came to her. It was _brilliant!_ Why hadn't she thought of it before? It would solve Zakuro's problem and fulfill a certain goal that the ballerina had had for a while now (which, of course, was just an added bonus - helping her girlfriend was clearly her top priority).

Turning to the other girl, Minto chirped, "Onee-sama, why don't I wash your hair for you?"

She should have just said no. One simple word, quick, easy and blunt. It was an outrageous idea - letting the younger do anything of the sort just didn't bode too well with her. But yet… she found herself hesitating, debating over the idea for longer than she should have. It was the look on her lover's face; lit up in joy and enthusiasm, with what Zakuro considered - although she would never allow herself to admit it aloud - the adorable smile she had grown fond of.

And it was because of that hesitation that she found herself, ten minutes later, bent over the edge of her large, jacuzzi-styled bath as Minto ran shampoo through her hair.

"You don't dare tell anyone about this, you hear me?" she nearly snapped, the command breaking the quiet that had descended over the bathroom. Growling, she gripped the sides of the tub so tightly that her knuckles began turning white. The sheer amount of physical contact was starting to unnerve her, and she could feel the irritating, tingling sensation of frustration building up beneath her skin.

"Yes, yes. I know," Minto answered airily, brushing the comment off almost as though it had gone straight over her head. Finishing up the job of lathering, Minto spun the handle of the tap around to rinse her hands clear of the soapy suds, before grabbing the jug sat beside her and filling it up with warm water. Once it was full enough, she lifted it up and over Zakuro's head, pouring its contents out over her hair and effectively washing away the shampoo. She did so again, and again, until all the bubbles had disappeared. Then, grabbing Zakuro's hand, she pulled her up and led her back to the bedroom.

Immediately, Minto started scouring the room for a hairdryer, ignoring her girlfriend's protests as to the fact she hadn't used conditioner. Locating one, she picked it up and plugged it in, pushing Zakuro onto the bed so that she could dry it easier. Switching it onto the lowest power setting so that they could talk, Minto began the task of drying her lover's hair.

"So what's this interview tomorrow about?"

"Don't start on that. Please. I can't be bothered to think about it, nevermind talk or even go through with it," she sighed, only barely loud enough over the rumble of the device Minto wielded.

"Then I take it that it's about the new modeling contract you signed, and your leaving to live in the States?"

Zakuro's eyes widened, and she spun her head around to face the other girl, bewildered and confused, searching Minto's face for a sign of how she knew that - and of reaction to it.

"H-how?"

It wasn't often that the lone, emotionless and cool-headed Fujiwara stumbled over her words, stuttering to get them out with any level of shock or surprise. But this…? She thought it had been kept secret, quiet and away from public knowledge - though she knew she was going to have to announce it sooner or later, and was most definitely planning on telling Minto before long - so it made no sense to her how her ballerina had discovered the hidden fact by herself.

And… it made even less sense as to why her face was completely blank - unemotional and disinterested, not as Zakuro had expected it to be. She seemed so calm about it, too. She had thought the younger girl would have been upset, horrified, stunned, hurt, but not unbothered. Her eyes darted over Minto's face, straining to find even the smallest hint of emotion, desperate to know what the lorikeet was feeling.

…Nothing. She was perfectly composed, even as much so as to continue drying her hair, fingers weaving in and out delicately and expertly, sometimes opting to use the brush to save them from being burned.

Swallowing, as she saw Minto either hadn't heard her attempt at words or was ignoring it, Zakuro tried again, this time her voice stronger and free of wavering. "How did you find out?"

But once again, as the moments passed and Minto didn't respond, she began to draw the conclusion that she was ignoring her... until she shut off the hairdryer, running the brush and then her fingers through the locks as she placed the mechanical object down beside her, and then opened her mouth to speak.

"I have my ways, onee-sama," she whispered, placing her hands on either side of Zakuro's head and turning it so that she was facing the mirror. The model only just managed to suppress a gasp, upon seeing its reflection. However, it wasn't because her hair was now back to being perfectly purple. No, it was the way the light caught the mirror, filtering through the window and hitting the reflective glass just so, that Zakuro managed to see what she had been missing. Minto's eyes, shimmering with the gradual build up of tears. Shimmering and watering, brimming until falling, slipping down her peachy-porcelain cheeks.

For the first time in a long while, Zakuro felt her heart breaking. And she made a decision.

Shifting her body so that she was fully turned around, she took hold of the bluenettes face in her hands, using her thumbs to brush away the droplets.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice trembling with each syllable, bringing her own face down and close to Minto's. "I'm so sorry… I was going to tell you. Soon. But I haven't had the chance yet, and I certainly never had the heart. I don't want to leave Tokyo… no, actually I couldn't care less about Tokyo. I don't want to leave _you_."

And then it happened. Zakuro's mask crumbled, shattering into nothing as her own salty tears dropped from her ducts, one managing to fall and hit Minto's cheek as it went. Moving her arms to wrap around her waist, she pulled the smaller girl into her, pressing her tightly against her body as she began crying freely, body shaking with silent sobs.

They stayed like that a while, though neither were sure how long, until, after taking a deep breath to calm herself, Zakuro pulled back slightly and popped her index finger beneath Minto's chin, tilting it upwards and leaning down so that her lips encased hers in a sweet, tender kiss.

"Aishiteru, Minto-koi."

"…Aishiteru, onee-sama," Minto smiled. "But, um… I suppose I should get going now. It's late, and my grandmother will be expecting me home any minute."

Nodding, Zakuro unwrapped their bodies and stood, making room for Minto to do the same. The ballerina made her way outside and to the front door of the apartment, pausing as she reached it to bid her girlfriend goodnight. However, she was surprised to find Zakuro behind her, pushing her into the hallway and continuing to follow her down the stairs, through the lobby and out into the darkness of the night.

The traffic was quiet, only a few vehicles zipping along the roads. Not many people wandered the streets, and none anywhere near enough to the two girls to witness what happened next. Quickly and discretely, Zakuro bent her head to brush her lips against the other's, the chaste lip-contact lasting no more than a couple seconds. Then, saying farewells, each girl headed their separate ways - one heading back inside, and the other striding down the street, troubles bubbling away as she made her way back home.

Little did either know that their doom was nigh… From out of the shadows stepped their fate, lips twisted in a devious grin with a camera clutched securely in hand…

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeep._

Shoving her head beneath the pillow gripped in her hands, Zakuro groaned, praying for the alarm's sake that it would just shut up before she got violent. It was no use though; the annoying beeping sound was still ringing through the air and managing to penetrate her fluffy barrier. Which, of course, was only causing the model to get frustrated.

When finally she couldn't take it anymore - and had stopped trying to convince herself that if she merely ignored it, it would go away - Zakuro rolled over, bringing out a hand and whacking it blindly down upon the clock, hoping that she had hit the snooze button, or even broke the device. Of course, it only signaled to her that this was going to be a very bad day indeed, when instead of the ringing stopping, it somehow got louder and more frequent. Bad luck. Great.

Muttering curses under her breath, Zakuro pulled herself up and into a sitting position, squinting and swearing more colourfully when the bright sunlight hit her straight in the eyes. With a sigh, she glanced at her still beeping alarm clock, glimpsing at the time before quickly smashing the thing to pieces. She really didn't deal with annoying things well, or waking so abruptly either. It took a while for her brain functions to kick in most mornings, and this one was no different. She vaguely wondered how long the damn thing had been going off, but pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Seconds later, another thought surfaced; one that nearly caused her eyes to pop out of her head.

The clock had read 12:01 pm. Meaning she had less than an hour until her interview.

"Oh, crap," she hissed, bolting out of bed and into her bathroom at record speed. From there she began the - very rushed - process of dressing and readying herself for her appointment.

Finally, twenty minutes later, she emerged from her apartment fully ready, and with it now being half past twelve she was just on time for the car that would take her to the television studio. Sighing, she made her decent of the many flights of stairs, eventually reaching the bottom and making her way through the building's lobby and outside. It took her only a moment to spot her chauffer, propped against the shiny black Mercedes, cigarette in hand. As she made her way over to him, he looked up, tipping his cap at her when he saw her coming and putting the cigarette out.

"Good day, Fujiwara-sama," he greeted politely, smiling pleasantly at Zakuro as she reached the car. She nodded briefly, in the way of an acknowledgment, glancing him up and down quickly as she did so. He was a short, portly gentleman, kind-looking and friendly. His rounded stomach and face covered in wrinkles made him seem, to her, more of a loving, retired grandfather than a still-working driver. His age, though unknown exactly to her, clearly ranged somewhere in his fifties or sixties, portrayed by the thin wisps of deep grey hair set atop his balding head and his deep-set eyes.

He moved to open her door for her, and she uttered a "Thank you" as she slid into the backseat. Closing the door again, he hobbled around to the driver's side of the car, climbing inside and popping the keys into the ignition.

"Traffic was a little busy before, Fujiwara-sama, so if you don't mind, I know a different route that will get you there faster…" he said with a wavering note of indecision in his voice, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

"No, of course, Tatchimura-san. Whichever way will best get me there in time is fine by me," she replied, folding her hands in her lap and turning her head to face the window.

"Alright then," he nodded, starting the car and beginning the journey to the studio.

True to his word, they arrived several minutes before Zakuro was due. As she stepped out of the Mercedes, she thanked him, then turned and started for the front doors.

The inside of the building was formally decorated; ivory walls encased a large, square lobby, with cream leather sofas dotted about for people to sit on as they waited. A large, oak desk stood on the far side of the room, perched behind which were several receptionists, and just to the left of that several elevators lined the walls. The carpet, too, was cream coloured, though a shade lighter than the chairs, and many beautiful paintings by famous artists such as Picasso hung throughout the room. It was as though she had just stepped into a five-star hotel, but to Zakuro, this was almost a second-home. She had had so many modeling jobs and guest-star appearances on TV here, that she was a well-known regular to most of the staff, although her unfriendly nature had deterred them from ever really speaking to her unless necessary.

After finding out the set number from one of the receptionists, she headed for one of the free elevators, closing her eyes as she heard the doors ding and the lift ascend. But her face twisted in annoyance as she felt it slowing and stopping after only one floor. She knew it would only be to pick up another passenger, but she also knew she needed to be at the set quickly. Sure enough, when the lift halted, she let out a small growl of irritation, snapping her eyes open again to glare at the newcomer as he entered.

He was young - mid-twenties at the oldest - with a mop of caramel-brown hair and bangs that flopped into his bright cerulean eyes. From the way he held himself and the clothes he wore (black dress pants, a loose blue, half-unbuttoned shirt and a smart, black blazer) suggested to her that he was clearly intelligent, rich, and obviously a snob. Great - she would be stuck in a lift with one of the people she could stand least. Though… when she thought about it, her girlfriend wasn't exactly much different… aside from Minto's stalkerish tendencies when it involved her… so could she be called a hypocrite? Zakuro didn't quite know, so she dropped her train of thought, instead choosing to focus on the present situation.

"Miss Fujiwara," he acknowledged, ignoring her glare with a smug smirk on his face. She rolled her eyes at him, before nodding curtly in a cold greeting. Silence swept over them for a moment, the cheesy elevator music only making the situation more awkward. Until he spoke.

"Those photos of you were unexpected, I must admit, but _highly_ entertaining. I thoroughly enjoyed them - planning on any more sometime soon?"

Because _that_ just made it so much worse.

Whipping around to face him, Zakuro exclaimed, "What?!" He was a bit startled at her sudden outburst, but composed himself quickly, smirk sliding back into place.

"Those photos of you and that… girl. You mean to tell me you haven't seen them yet?" he taunted, his voice haughty. The elevator began to screech - a sign that they were reaching at least one of their destinations - as he spoke. By the time she responded, the cart had stopped and the doors were beginning to open.

"What photos? What girl? What did she look like?" Zakuro asked, trying her hardest not to let the panic show in her voice. But he was already out of the doors, walking away without answering. She was left standing there, dejected and desperate, as the elevator closed and ascended once again.

Eventually, she arrived at her floor, and was ushered through to make-up as soon as her feet touched the carpet. Not getting a chance to ask anyone else about these so called pictures (not that her pride would let her - for all she knew, he could have been lying and it would have only made her look a fool), she found herself being pushed onto the set five minutes before going live, still in a state of dissatisfaction. Her mind was elsewhere when the director gave her a last minute briefing about the topics to be covered, so she didn't hear what she was saying and figured she'd have to wing it when something came up.

"Now, is everyone ready? Places people, we go live in three… two… one! And we're on!" called the director from her chair, off set.

"Hello, hello, hello! My name's Azuki Kasumi, and welcome to the 'Talking to Kasumi! Show', coming to you live from TV Tokyo Studios! Today's guest is the one and only Fujiwara Zakuro, who just got back from her trip to the USA!" cried the presenter, a little too cheerily for Zakuro's liking. She only just managed to stop herself wincing, something she would have paid dearly for if she had been caught.

"So, Miss Fujiwara," Kasumi began, turning to face the desperately-trying-not-to-cringe model. "You've just got back from the USA on a modeling job. What was it like?"

"Like the rest, I suppose. One modeling job isn't much different to any other, although the products and poses have to obviously vary," she answered, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she did so.

"Mhmm, mhmm," nodded Kasumi enthusiastically. "And… you obviously liked it, am I right? I mean, rumour has it that you're going to go live in the States soon, am I right, am I right?"

"Well… I've been debating over whether or not I should. Sure, America offers more work and is, quite frankly, better paying… but… there's a part of me that just can't - won't - leave Japan."

Kasumi looked wistful at this, raising a finger to her lips and appearing as though deep in thought. After a moment, she opened her mouth and said the most horrifying thing Zakuro had ever heard.

"You mean your girlfriend? Well, it appears to me that she's your girlfriend - I mean, it's not as if you kiss random strangers in the street, is it? Is it? Is she the reason you won't leave?"

As the bubbly presenter babbled away, a screen began lowering down behind her. By the time she had stopped, it was flickering to life. Both women turned to it, one blinking indifferently whilst the other stared in horror at the image she saw.

It was her. With Minto. Kissing.

But how? How had they gotten this picture? _Where_ had they gotten this picture? It was clear that this was last night - they were stood outside Zakuro's apartment building, both wearing the same clothes as the previous evening. And… oh no. Zakuro felt her stomach drop in terror as realization hit her… This programme was airing _now_, live, all across Japan. Everyone in the country could see it, was watching it. They all knew. Her secret was out. And there was nothing she could do to cover it up.

"So, Miss Fujiwara, this image has been the very centre of the media, this morning! In all the tabloids, across the news… but, no-one would have ever guessed. I, Azuki Kasumi, think you should explain." A rapid nod followed her statement, a child-like grin lighting up her face.

Zakuro didn't know where to start. She was astonished, and that didn't do her thought processes any good. Her mind was whirling, words and phrases, images and information all flitting and spinning in her head. She couldn't make sense of anything. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she tried to concentrate. She had the opportunity to either make this go her way, or mess it all up completely.

Sighing, she admitted, "Ok, so I'm not going to deny it: yes, that's my girlfriend. I, Fujiwara Zakuro, am homosexual. And if you don't like it, I suggest you just learn to deal with it. Because nothing's going to change; I'm not going to change." She was beginning to shake slightly - despite her calm, cool demeanor, she was scared. Scared of what was going to happen as a result of this… but… she glanced up, her gaze meeting Kasumi's for no more than a fleeting second. But that second gave her the strength to continue.

"I guess the reason I haven't come out already is because I'm… scared. Yes, I'm scared. It's not an easy thing to say to people, and when someone's in the media's eye as much as I seem to be, then it's daring to be different. No, wait - daring isn't the right word. It's _deadly_ to be different - the slightest mistake can ruin someone's entire career. Their life. So don't get me wrong for one second - I'm not ashamed of this. Not in the slightest. Why should someone be ashamed to be in love? They shouldn't. And… I don't know where those pictures came from, but in a roundabout way, I'm sort of glad. At least this way, I can be open and not have to hide my relationship." Zakuro finished with a smile, directed straight at the camera. She knew it was rare of her to show such an emotion, but she couldn't help it. She felt… free. Happy.

Rising from her seat, Zakuro made to leave, excusing herself to the presenter as she went. She heard the director cut to commercial break as she exited the set, and the clatter-clatter of heels as someone chased after her. Once on the other side of the rather large, double doors, she paused, waiting for Kasumi to catch up.

"Thank you," she began, not even turning to face the other woman. "For giving me the chance to explain myself now, rather than have to face the media's slandering voiceless."

"…You're welcome, Miss Fujiwara. I know how harsh the tabloids and television can be. I just thought that if you told your part now, things wouldn't be so bad," Kasumi replied, tucking a few loose strands of her wavy brown hair behind her ear. Her bubbly, unnaturally-perky tone was gone, replaced with a sweet, caring voice. "You should get yourself out of here. Go home and stay out of the public eye for a little while. Get some rest."

"Thank you, again. I will," Zakuro said softly.

"…I should probably be getting back on set now - they need me there. Goodbye, Miss Fujiwara. It was a pleasure talking to you," Kasumi smiled, and she started striding away. Before Zakuro knew it, the presenter was gone, and she was left alone in the corridor. She guessed she had better get back, and then perhaps head over to the Café.

She chuckled beneath her breath as she thought about Minto's reaction to the whole thing. She'd be stunned, embarrassed, and most likely red-faced. Especially from Ichigo and Ryou's teasing. Purin would probably showing support in her own little monkey way, Retasu would be trying to congratulate her somehow, and Keiichiro… well, he would be smiling in knowing. Zakuro had a feeling he'd known all along.

And, well, it was only a matter of time before her friends found out, anyway - this had occurred to her some time ago. So she'd been preparing for this day. The explanations would be easy now. For the first time in a long while, Zakuro felt as though a weight had been lifted; she and Minto would finally be able to be open about everything, rather than keeping it a secret. And maybe she wouldn't bother moving away. Everything was just fine here; she could start living for love, at last. She didn't need to shy away from anything involving her love-life anymore - let the media come and beat her verbally. She could take it. Because this was her fresh start. Her new beginning.

* * *

**A/N: **So, did you like it? Did you not? I worked really hard on this, so please - just take a few minutes to review? Cookies for everyone who does!


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